I was exposed to peanuts by touch. I go up to the traig nurse and give her all my background. She rushes me back puts me on an o2 monitor. The doc basically accuses me of drug seaking, that you can't have peanut reaction from touch and wants to kick me out - even though my O2 level is dropping. The Nurse calls another doctor. Doc2 kicks idiot out of my room. Doc2 listens gives me the correct meds. Then he takes idiot doctor into an office and reads him the riot act. (I could hear what they said - they were shocked when I repeated the conversation to them. Epi has that effect on me)

Mom had a few funny ones

3rd time she had pneumonia she heard the priest say there was no way someone could survive 3 bouts. Growing up in small town PEI she had never been in an elevator. So she puts on her dressing gown and slippers and goes for a joy ride in the hospital elevator. One that was a retrofited cage on the outside of the building - in the middle of a Canadian winter. One of the nieghbors called the nurses and told them that Mom was riding up and down the elevator.

Another time that she was hospitalized with pneumonia Uncle Press, her doctor, brought up her dinner. It was minestrone soap, which sis had never seen. Uncle press came from the OR and had blood on his scrubs. Mom made a kid logic connection and refused the soup.

Another time Uncle Press told her he was sending her home. Went to finish his rounds. The nurse went in to help her pack up and get dressed. Mom and her things were gone. Nurse called Nanna and said, Peg look out the window and see if Gerry is walking toward your house. Press told her she could go home and she took him at his word. Sure enough Mom was hiking home suitcase in tow through snow banks taller than her.

BTW Mom beat the Priest 3 x and you die stat by a lot she had at least 10 bouts and didn't die of pneumonia

I was exposed to peanuts by touch. I go up to the traig nurse and give her all my background. She rushes me back puts me on an o2 monitor. The doc basically accuses me of drug seaking, that you can't have peanut reaction from touch and wants to kick me out - even though my O2 level is dropping. The Nurse calls another doctor. Doc2 kicks idiot out of my room. Doc2 listens gives me the correct meds. Then he takes idiot doctor into an office and reads him the riot act. (I could hear what they said - they were shocked when I repeated the conversation to them. Epi has that effect on me)

Mom had a few funny ones

3rd time she had pneumonia she heard the priest say there was no way someone could survive 3 bouts. Growing up in small town PEI she had never been in an elevator. So she puts on her dressing gown and slippers and goes for a joy ride in the hospital elevator. One that was a retrofited cage on the outside of the building - in the middle of a Canadian winter. One of the nieghbors called the nurses and told them that Mom was riding up and down the elevator.

Another time that she was hospitalized with pneumonia Uncle Press, her doctor, brought up her dinner. It was minestrone soap, which sis had never seen. Uncle press came from the OR and had blood on his scrubs. Mom made a kid logic connection and refused the soup.

Another time Uncle Press told her he was sending her home. Went to finish his rounds. The nurse went in to help her pack up and get dressed. Mom and her things were gone. Nurse called Nanna and said, Peg look out the window and see if Gerry is walking toward your house. Press told her she could go home and she took him at his word. Sure enough Mom was hiking home suitcase in tow through snow banks taller than her.

BTW Mom beat the Priest 3 x and you die stat by a lot she had at least 10 bouts and didn't die of pneumonia

I feel lucky to grow up in a time period that my pneumonia, while it scared the life out of my mom, got treated easily and just meant a week or so of feeling like crap. That said, I've had it five times, twice the "double" variety. (I have no clue what that means. Seriously. I assume it meant both lungs were gunky, but a google search just told me its a diffrent type entirely.)

And that elevator story is too cute. Your mom as a kid sounds like a friend of mine's daughter. Very literal, does what she wants, and is a joy to be around, but tiring to try to control.

I wouldn't say this was so much the doctor's fault, as it was probably necessary in all truth but it traumatized me all the same. When I was 4 years old, I fell down our stairs and somehow got a cut in my eyebrow and on my nose that required stitches so we went to the ER. They had to strap me to a papoose board to get me to stay still and that just terrified me to be rendered immobile as they used a needle on my face.

Four was not a good year for me in the ER. I got a dislocated elbow, stitches and a broken leg, in addition to adnoid surgery. After 3 trips to the ER a friend who was a nurse there told my parents to not be surprised if someone called cps on them because of all the times I'd ended up in the ER in one year. Actually after that I didn't go to the ER again for years.

I don't remember much about the fall down the stairs other than I think I slipped on the carpet, and whoever did the stitches did a great job as the scare is barely visible but oh it terrified me to get it!

Logged

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here. Be cheerful, strive to be happy. -Desiderata

They (the psychiatrists) refused to believe that the problem wasn't in his head. They said he was "making" himself sick because he didn't like school. My mom stood up, and said icily, "Do you mean to tell me that this kid turned green right in front of me, and got sick on purpose?"

They said yes.

My parents never went back to them, and they spread the word about this couple to anyone who would listen.

I tell people, when such a question arises, that far too often your diagnosis depends entirely on what specialist's office you walk into. Or sometimes I phrase it that if you hire a carpenter, somehow magically every problem you have requires a saw and hammer to fix, whether sawing and hammering will fix it or not.

My younger son lost a huge percentage of his body weight one summer, throwing up after most meals, and looking like a shell of his formerly-vital self. Our family physician was puzzled and suggested a hematologist or an endocrinologist. The hematologist took several visits, trying various supplements and various tests, all trying to build up his red blood count, unsuccessfully ... he was ready to keep giving it a "good old college try", scheduling more appointments, certain he'd get the right supplement/medicine combination sooner or later. Same story with the endocrinologist ... try one thing, try another, keep on trying. We felt lost, and we felt possible foolhardy for ignoring the degree of certainty these wise doctors had. Then we went to a gastroenterologist, who immediately said "He's got Crohn's ... textbook case." A couple of common pills brought my son right back on track, and a 15-pound box of bacon got his weight back to normal range fast!

I suppose this isn't a horror story of incompetent doctors, but I still think such symptoms should be within the understanding of most doctors ... you gotta know what's NOT in your field just as much as you know what IS in your field!

While in college, I started getting a lot of pain in my dominant wrist (I guess from all the writing - this was before laptops were common.) I went to an orthopedist and he injected me with cortisone shots. This happened about twice a year. One time, the doctor I usually used was not there and his partner gave me the shot. The usual MO was for the medicine to go in slowly, which was painful but it worked. The new doc gave me the shot quickly, and apparently he got in into a vein instead of where it was supposed to go, because I developed a blood infection. I don't even remember much of the next week, but my Mom tells me she had to take me back every day or so (to the attached hospital) for additional shots of something to clear up the infection.

The hospital then tried to bill her for the shots I needed to clear up the infection caused by their doctor's incompetence. She refused.

I have Ehlers-Danlos syndrome, a side effect of which can be ineffectiveness of local anaesthetic. Several years ago, a dentist a) dismissed the very conclusive research around this subject and b) disbelieved that I could still feel pain after the amount of cartridges she'd already given me and tried to pull a tooth despite my protestations. Not just any old tooth. A wisdom tooth.

The screaming had the nurses running in from reception to see what had happened.

Not nearly to the same extent, but I don't trust any dentist or anesthesiologist who doesn't say, "oh, no, a redhead" as soon as they see me or one of my kids. Redheads, and about 25% of brunettes have a natural resistance to pain killers and anesthetics. I've walked out of dentists offices for this reason more than once.

Guh. I should probably count myself lucky that I have a blonde gene fighting the red one for dominance; I've manged to miss that little gem of genetics (though I do have the redhead bleeding factor; we're bleeders, it's a thing). Never had an ounce of trouble with novocaine or general anesthetic. Bonus, nobody can tell that the henna isn't my natural color.

I do, however, have an inherited resistance to opiates. My dad, grandmother, and various other family members share this fun little trait. (I also found out recently that there's a streak of it on my mom's side, too, so I was pretty well doomed.) How did I first learn of this? Were there family anecdotes passed down?

Nope. I found out this past spring, when I had my gallbladder removed. After the surgery, they dosed me up with morphine, and I just lay there thinking, "Ow. Still hurts. Hey, isn't there supposed to be some sort of euphoric floaty feeling? No? Fine, I'll just go back to sleep." Only to find out that the stupid stuff gave me sleep apnea. They then sent me home with a bottle of Percocet, another opiate. I had some soup and took a pill. An hour passes, with no pain relief in sight, and a vague sense of "Hey, isn't this stuff supposed to have fun daffy side effects, too?" Well, turns out it does. It made me throw up.

And I tell you, there are few things in this world less pleasant than throwing up less than 12 hours after having major abdominal surgery.

After that, I valiantly resisted the impulse to violently hurl the bottle into a wall and put it away and got out the naproxen. Best pain relief I'd had since I'd woken up after surgery. A little later, I called my dad to give him the surgery update, told him about the big bad painkillers being useless, and then, THEN he tells me about the family history. Thanks, Dad.

Oddly enough, my poor husband seems to be showing signs of having the same issue. He got hydrocodone after kidney stone surgery, and after the first two doses, we realized that it wasn't have any effect on him whatsoever. Again, switched to naproxen, everything was much better. We'd both best hope that we never have any pain that Aleve can't fix.